


Why Waste Your Time? - Nov 21, 2020

by Inky_moro



Series: Anno Uno Scribere [8]
Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Unus Annus - Fandom, Youtube RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: 365 days to write, Anno Uno Scribere, Based On: The Worst Kind of Cupping, Gen, Ghosts, I don't want to end up like this ghost, Memento mori, Mentions of Death, Mentions of ghosts, More actual story, Nov 21, The Cupping Saga, Unus Annus, somewhat poetic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_moro/pseuds/Inky_moro
Summary: Day 7The Finale of The Cupping SagaWhen a Ghost - all at once - cannot ghost, but also can't move onBased Very Loosely on bits and pieces from 'The Worst Kind of Cupping', and connected to 'Do You Believe In Cod?' and 'You Can't Stop The Clock'(you don't have to read those fics, but it might make a teeny bit more sense if you do)
Series: Anno Uno Scribere [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016157
Kudos: 2





	Why Waste Your Time? - Nov 21, 2020

The world is brighter again.  
The sky changes according to its will, and its will alone. Slowly, the world is rebuilt. The colors come together to form a wonderful mixture that is unnaturally beautiful. The people are calm, going about their daily lives on four legs and two. They worship their cod, and they listen to red and blue. They are at peace; they live in harmony. Shops reopen, bonds are unbroken, and everything seems whole again.

Ghosts wander the town.  
Having discovered an escape through the cracks in The Clock, the spirits live again amongst the living. Some fade of their own volition, others with time. Some claim they’ll wander forever, but end up tied to, haunting, something. They drain a tiny bit of the color wherever they go, absorbing it into the white, leaving behind the black and grey. It’s quite a jolt to happen upon a haunting ground, seeing the world go from colorful to monochrome.

It has been twelve years, and time has healed most wounds

You, however, are stuck.

Whereas others have climbed and clambered through cracks in the once crucial Clock, you simply stare, silent and sorrowful. You stare as the world rebuilds itself, wishing you could be part of it. You stare at the people fighting and loving and laughing and crying, and dying, yes, but above all, living. The world becomes more beautiful than any you can ever remember gazing upon, though it might just be that you can’t remember. You don’t see a point to remembering anyway, if there was a prettier world, it makes no sense as to why you’d leave it. 

You are not the only one observing the world from a separate perspective.  
Camilla is there too. You sometimes play games together, ask one another questions about what they remember. Sometimes the questions and answers seem familiar, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes you sit and stare at the glistening glass of the cracked clock, just the two of you. Sometimes you spy another stranger, but they are speedy to separate themselves from any sort of situation. Sometimes you search the rooms, gather lilac sprigs and try to carry the suitcase. Sometimes you stack the cups that were its contents. Sometimes you try to spark the roomba into running about, littering lilacs around the monochrome maze. Sometimes you think you hear it whirring in your sleep. 

Everything always returns.  
So sometimes you forget. Forget Camilla, forget the games, forget the rooms, forget the Clock. You are stuck still when you forget. It feels so empty to forget.  
Sometimes you remember. Remember repeat repeat repeat. Over and over and over. When you remember, you want to break free, but you are also more afraid than ever of doing so. It is far too much to remember.

You are stuck, and sometimes you suspect it has something to do with the numbers- the zeros to be exact. You know that you are dead, most of the days. You know you could probably be like the others, return to the world. You also know it wouldn’t be the same. 

Guilt and shame. They trap you. You feel as if you wasted what you had, and now you do not use what you are given. Sometimes you realize how stupid this is, sometimes you merely suspect. Either way, it always stays the same. Stuck in the place you feel sick and safe.

Only you can change your fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it's been a week. Honestly it doesn't feel like it. Time feels as if it all at once moves so slowly and so quickly.
> 
> I'm a bit proud of myself for sticking with this. Sometimes I feel too variable, like my interests and life change too often. It's good to have a somewhat constant.
> 
> Writing has sort of become part of my bedtime routine now. This is really weird.
> 
> You ever not know who you want to be? If I knew, I'd be set. I'd have something to work toward. But I don't ;-;
> 
> Word Count: 574


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